


You Won't Miss Much

by IgnisCorde



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Aelin's got a lot going on, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Insomnia, Multi, Pain, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-10-29 08:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10850535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IgnisCorde/pseuds/IgnisCorde
Summary: Months after the war that changed all, Aelin Galathynius dispatches her king and mate to deal with rising tensions in Eyllwe. Meanwhile, in Terrasen, Aelin has her own battles and demons to fight, some more harrowing than any she'd faced before. Most coming from herself. And a surprise interrupts all.A story of friendship, love, and healing. Also, major Fenrys/Aelin brotp.





	1. Departures

**Author's Note:**

> I'm nervous! Anyhow, I hope you like this, leave comments!

The wind was tousling his hair. That was the only thing she could focus on. The near-rhythmic way his sliver-white hair was blowing in the cold winter wind. She wanted to run her hands through it, as she had last night. And again, this morning. She smiled weakly as Rowan cupped her cheek, his callouses scraping against her skin. “I don’t want to leave you,” he said quietly, gently, and Aelin felt tears well in her eyes. But she couldn’t cry, not now. Not as Aedion and Gavriel sat atop their own horses, watching and waiting for their king and queen to say goodbye. Not as Lysandra watched them, too, a stony expression over her face. Aelin flicked her eyes away from his, over his shoulder and to the castle gates. Gates, he would soon ride out of, and away from her.

“It’ll be two months, Rowan. Three at most, you won’t miss much,” she said with equal quiet, but her voice wavered, and Rowan wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her forward. “I still don’t like the thought of being away for so long,” he said onto her hair, and a small part of her laughed at the thought of the lords and ladies watching their king and queen embracing in such a way. “I know, but you need to go. The other kingdoms need to see we stand with them,” she murmured against his chest. “And,” she added with a smirk, “Every now and again, us ladies need some peace from you heathens.” 

Rowan huffed out a little laugh and squeezed her against him. Aelin inhaled deeply, memorizing his scent. She knew, deep down, that he would be fine. The disturbance was in Eyllwe, a group had gathered that disagreed with the current reign’s relationship with Terrasen. They said they were aligning themselves with the enemy, allying with the very same country who had once burned their villages. They refused to see that it had been Maeve burning those villages. They were revolting. And, gods-damn it, it scared the hell out of her.  
But there was something else that nagged on Aelin’s mind, something she couldn’t put her finger on. She pulled away from him slowly, savoring every single moment his body was in contact with hers’. “You’d better be on your way; it’s a long trip.”

She took him in, the tight armor, the elegant swords strapped to his back, the numerous blades no doubt concealed about him. He looked like her king. She smoothed down the skirt of her ruby gown then slid her hands up over his chest, the leather warm and somehow comforting. Rowan’s eyes darkened slightly as she rose onto her tiptoes to kiss him, but she held back for a moment. “I love you,” she said as she brushed back a lock of his hair from his brow. “Come home to me, you Buzzard.” Rowan gave her that smile she loved and leaned down to kiss her, his lips soft and sweet against hers. The pine scent of him wrapped around her and she tangled a hand in the hair at the back of his neck. 

After a long moment, they both pulled away and Aelin felt the wind pick up around them. “I love you, too, Princess.”   
She gave him a little smile and offered him her arm, which he took and led them to his horse, a chestnut beauty that was pawing the ground in anticipation. Rowan swung the cloak that had been resting on his saddle around his shoulders in a swift motion. He gave her a long look then stepped up into his saddle, swinging a leg over. She came around to his horses’ front, resisting the urge to slide a hand along his leg. 

“You’ll write me any time you can, right?” She asked, looking away from him and towards the sprawling city of Orynth below them. “Of course, and anytime I can’t,” he said with a grin. Rowan scanned her face unflinchingly, and offered her his hand, which was warm and solid. “I’ll be back, Fireheart. You know that. And,” Rowan gave a grin that sent a thrill through her. “when I do get back, I am going to steal you away for a little while. Perhaps, to the manor. A week or so alone sounds lovely.”

Aelin nodded, smiling at the thought. “King Rowan,” came Aedion’s voice from behind them, and Rowan winced. He told Aedion not to call him that. “King Rowan, it’s nearly noon.” Aelin smiled ruefully and released his hand. “You’d better go.” Her voice was quiet, timid, and Rowan nodded. “I’ll see you soon, Fireheart.” Rowan studied her a moment longer, then leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to her brow. “I love you, Ro’.” Her king smiled at the use of that nickname, “I love you, too.” Rowan glanced around, his green eyes scanning the horizon. She saw the war-commander slowly rise in him, and watched, a little fascinated as Rowan spurred his horse forward. “Don’t get in too much trouble while I’m gone, Your Majesty.” He called over his shoulder as Gavriel and Aedion fell in behind him. The castle gates swung wide and Aelin memorized every single inch of his body, every movement he made as he rode away, she memorized those eyes that were still trained on hers. “No promises,” she called back, waving a hand slowly in his direction. And as Rowan rode away, Aelin felt something stir inside her, but she ignored it, too focused on her mate as he left.

Aelin watched as they trotted away, smiling as she heard the cries of joy and admiration coming from her kingdom as they saw their king. She heard, more than saw, Lysandra walk behind her. “I don’t like them leaving,” Lysandra said after a moment of silence. Aelin nodded, hugging her arms to her chest. Lysandra sniffed and turned towards the castle, her black hair whipping in the wind. “We just finished a war, and here we are again,” Lysandra spat, the venom in her voice tangible. Aelin closed her eyes. This wasn’t a war. It was just her generals and husband going to speak to them. Show solidarity. “Not a war, Lys,” she reminded her again. Lysandra huffed. “I know, but still…” 

Aelin turned back to her friend. “I don’t like it either, but it has to happen. They’ll be fine, all they have to do is speak to few officials, shake some hands, be diplomatic.” In all honesty, Aelin wished she was traveling with them. She missed the friends she’d made in the Eyllwean court, but she had much to do here. Most of which had to do with tax plans and defenses and their relationship with the now tumultuous Fae kingdom. Aelin offered Lysandra her arm.   
“Come, we’ve got tea with Lady Cale,” she said as she started inside, Lysandra lagging a bit beside her. The shifter laid her head on Aelin’s shoulder and they walked inside together, and Aelin gave her a pitying stare. “They’ll be back, Lys,” she reassured her. Aelin tugged on the glimmering bond that connected her to Rowan, smiling when he felt his response.  
_Love you, Princess._ Rowan’s voice rumbled through her mind, and she felt a smile in his voice. _Love you, too, Prince_ , she purred back. A satisfied rumble raised goosebumps on her arms and she laughed under her breath. Lysandra raised a dark eyebrow. “Rowan?” 

Aelin flushed, and Lysandra laughed, the sound echoing through the cold halls leading into the warmth of the castle.  
“Yes, as a matter of fact it was,” Aelin squinted down at Lysandra, who was still leaning against her side. “How’d you know?”  
Lysandra raised her head and shrugged, “You always get that little glint in your eyes when you talk to him.” Aelin rolled her eyes. “Alright, Lady. We’ve things to do,” Lysandra groaned and laid her head back down. “How about we hide in the kitchens for two hours.” Aelin grinned and dragged her friend to the tea soaked hell that was waiting for them. 

When Aelin finally finished her duties for the day and returned to her chambers, she was utterly exhausted. And aching. All over she ached with tiredness and longing. She knew she was missing her mate, but shoved down on the feeling as she started her bath. With a sigh, she stripped off her gown without much difficulty. She could have called a servant, but it was easier this way— quieter. 

Aelin settled deeper into the bath, the water covering her chin. Tonight would be a long one.   
The scent of jasmine and verbena caressed her nose, and she sat forward, hugging her knees to her chest. Absently, she stared at the water swirling with her movement. It was horribly lonely without him there; without his quiet comfort. Aelin huffed a breath and grabbed a cloth from the bench of the large tub. Without much effort, she scrubbed quickly, then rinsed with equal vigor. As she did so, memories of the night before slipped into her mind. The memory of how Rowan had pressed kisses beneath her jaw, his hands achingly soft against her back. How he’d wrapped his arms around her and carried her from their spot before the fire to their bed, lying her on the soft mattress with reverence. The way his hands had felt on her skin as he worshipped her like one of the zealots at the temples. 

_I’ll think of you every moment, Aelin. And I’ll miss you… I’ll miss your touch._  
He’d breathed those words into her ear after he’d made her break upon him… Aelin closed her eyes and splashed water on her face, but it did nothing to cool the fire in her veins. The ache for him was nearly debilitating, and she’d known it would be like this. She’d been preparing for it for the past week. But somehow, when he’d rode away, it had felt like a punch to the gut. Before, the carranam bond had made it feel like she was missing a limb, but now… Without her mate at her side it felt like someone had removed her heart. Anger, she slapped the water with a hand. She would not let herself mope around for three months. Forcing motion into her limbs, Aelin finished quickly and stepped out of the large tub, the air outside of the now-lukewarm water was freezing against her skin, and she snatched a towel off the edge of the tub. Longing for the warmth of her bed, she dressed quickly in one of Rowan’s undershirts and a pair of fleece lined leggings, and silenced the candles burning around the room. 

As she finally slid into her bed, a book in hand, Aelin realized how deeply cold she felt. The damned winters. “Fleetfoot!” she called, and smiled as the hound leaped onto the bed, her huge tail flopping against the pine bed post.   
The dog lumbered up the bed and curled up on Rowan’s side, laying her head on his pillow. The dog looked up at her with doe eyes, and snuggled onto the pillow, huffing as she settled. Aelin rolled her eyes at the ridiculous comfort of her dog, and pulled her hair over her shoulder. Settling back against her pillows, Aelin opened her book and began to read, but after repeating a paragraph at least three times, she decided sleep was her best option. She tossed the book on the night table and smothered the flames burning around the room. “Goodnight, Fleetfoot,” she said as she tugged the blankets around her. 

The dark silence of her room pressed in on her suddenly, and a breath ripped its way from her throat. Her breath began to quicken, and she felt the meal she’d somehow found time for earlier rise in her throat. She sprang up, tossing the sheets and duvet off her in an attempt to escape. With a gasp, she lit the candle on the nightstand. Darkness retreated in the light, and Aelin exhaled harshly. It had been a damn long time since she’d last had panic attack. Silently, she thanked the gods that it hadn’t escalated.   
_Aelin?_  
She nearly sobbed in relief as she heard Rowan’s voice rumble through her mind.   
_Rowan— I’m fine. Truly, I just got nervous._  
Aelin pressed her forehead to her knees, inhaling through her mouth, exhaling through her nose.   
_What was it?_  
The words were gentle, and she could almost see the concern in his green eyes.   
_I wasn’t ready for the dark_ , she admitted.  
 _Light a candle, Fireheart. You’re safe. I promise_ , Rowan’s voice soothed her more than she wanted to admit.   
_I know… I did. I’m fine._

And though her heart ached at his worry, Aelin ran a hand through her hair and gave an exasperated sigh. _I know, Rowan. Don’t get too pissy, I just panicked._  
She felt his displeasure at her dismal, but ignored it. _And, Your Majesty, don’t think that you get out of writing me just because we can do this._  
Aelin felt his laugh, and she couldn’t fight off the weak smile tugging at her lips.  
 _I’ll write you, Aelin. I promised._  
She nodded to herself and nestled back into her pillows. She didn’t let herself think about why she needed that conformation that he was alive and writing to her.   
_I’m sorry I woke you… I love you_ , she said as she turned onto her side, and wrapped her arms around Fleetfoot.  
 _Don’t be. And I love you, too, Aelin. Always._  
With those words, Aelin felt an ease settle into her heart, and she sighed again. “Goodnight, Rowan,” she said, aloud. He was right, she thought as sleep edged its way into her body. She was safe and living and breathing, and the darkness had no chance.


	2. Out Reach

If Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius didn’t get something to eat in about two minutes, he was going to end someone’s life. He glanced around at his companions, who all seemed to be sharing his feelings of coldness, tiredness, and hunger. He’d been on much tougher war campaigns, ones where they’d had to abandon their horses because the snow was too deep, or the ones where they’d gone days without rest or food, but somehow this one was fraying his nerves much more than those ever had. Perhaps it was what Aelin had awoken him with last night. Rowan shook his head, and spurred his horse a bit, hissing as the animal clomped into a large puddle he hadn’t noticed. Aedion, who had been riding unusually quite beside him, laughed dryly. 

“Not enough sleep last few nights, Your Majesty?” The male’s smarmy grin was enough for Rowan to get what he was suggesting.  
“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, without looking back at him. Aedion made a sound of protest, and sped up his horse to catch up with Rowan. “Never mind that,” he said, the words coming out with a puff of steam in the cold air. The golden male looked back towards the rest of the party behind him, a smiling catching on his face as he saw Gavriel looking miserable at the back. They’d only brought three lords, the ones Aelin could stand, and three guards. But the lords, the finicky bastards, had insisted they bring a few of their servants with them. But still it was a small party, considering the task Aelin had sent him with; heal the bonds, ease people’s minds. Aedion had insisted they bring more, but Rowan had only said that more would look too much like an invasion. 

“You know,” Aedion whispered. “It’ll take us two months to get there if we don’t hurry our pace.” He was right, they’d miss their ship if they didn’t hurry. The plan was to ride to Ilium, then board on of the ship’s bound for Eyllwe. Rowan nodded his assent, the crown on his head heavy, and he raised a hand to steady it.

“Do I really have to wear this the entire journey?” He hissed, snapping his gaze to his general, who only laughed. “I suppose so.” Rowan braced himself as a wicked grin spread across Aedion’s tan face. “But, if you had agreed to taking a carriage—” Rowan groaned and let his head drop a bit. “You’d only have to wear it outside!” 

“I am certainly not riding in a carriage like some polished little prince.” Aedion laughed, his eyes sparkling. Rowan felt another pang of hunger strike his belly, and he grabbed the pocket watch Aelin had thrown at him as he had been packing. It was nearly an hour past noon. But Aedion was right, they needed to pick up their pace, and, as Rowan glanced around, he found no place to stop. Rowan huffed. “We’ll stop in an hour.” Aedion nodded, and shouted the words back towards the group behind them. For a while the only sound was that of the clip-clop of horses’ hooves and the snapping of the silver-and-green banners in the wind, then a grumble interrupted it. Rowan snapped his eyes to Aedion in question, and the male blushed. 

“I’m hungry,” he explained.  
Rowan rolled his eyes but reached over to his saddle bag with one hand, unclipping it and tossing it towards Aedion. “Aelin probably stuck some gross confectionery in there.”  
Aedion laughed as he rifled through it, shouting his victory when he yanked out a small wax paper bag. “Why,” Aedion began as he popped what looked like a piece of chocolate into his mouth, “does she shove this stuff in here if she knows you aren’t going to eat it?”

Rowan shrugged in answer and scanned the road before them. The towering pines on either side of the road created quite the image; each dusted with last night’s fallen snow, the needles whispering in the faint wind. There was a snicker behind him that turned into a full guffaw, and Rowan raised his brows at Aedion, then saw what he was looking at… “Oh gods,” he groaned, a blush heating his face. Aelin— wicked and cruel Aelin had slid a book into his bag as well. He remembered that particular book well. It was a copy of one of Aelin’s favorite collections of poems. If you could call them poems, and not just explicit short stories.  
“Why the hell do you have this?” he said after another minute of laughter.

Rowan only shook his head. “Blame your queen, General.”  
Aedion chuckled, “She reads this smut?” Rowan fixed him with a look of disbelief. “You’ve no idea.” 

_You minx_ , he said to Aelin.

_Hmm, did you find my book?_

_Yes, but, as a matter of fact, Aedion, found your book_ , he growled.  
There was a pause, then, _Oh, I hope he enjoyed it._

Sitting at the table in her chambers, breakfast spread before her, Aelin scanned the paper before her, trying desperately to quell her disappointment at what she was reading.  
_Your Majesty,_  
_Sellene and I have been trying feverishly to calm the many who think the Whitethorn’s aren’t appropriate rulers, and I am sad to tell you that we may have to forfeit this rule. Or perhaps, you and my dear cousin could come to Doranelle to speak on our behalf, we need more influence than the few decrees you’ve sent. With Maeve dead, centuries of tradition are disintegrating, and we need your help. There has been no violence to speak of, but we fear that it may arise. I am aware of the things going on in Erilea, but this is a plea, if only so we can keep this from escalating._  
Your friend,  
Endymion. 

Aelin sighed heavily. She couldn’t leave to go to Wendlyn, not for the next few months at least, and she couldn’t spare anyone to go either. The tension in the kingdom had been steadily rising since the War, and it seemed it was at its tipping point. She scrubbed her face with a hand, then a few hard knocks on the door interrupted her, and she glanced towards the young girl who was pouring her a cup of tea. “Get that, please.” The girl scurried off with a quick bow, and Aelin adjusted the sleeves of her tunic as she heard the two sets of footsteps returning. It had been three weeks since Rowan had left, and she figured she had gotten maybe two whole nights of rest collectively. Maybe it was the nightmares that chased her from sleep, or the cold that had seeped into her bones. Aelin tipped back her head and sighed.  
“You look like shit.”  
Aelin righted herself to glare at Fenrys, whose tan face was serious. “Nice to see you, too, Fen. I’ve been well, how about you?” Fenrys didn’t smile as he pulled out a chair at the end of the table, helping himself to a plate of potatoes and sausage. “I’m serious, Aelin,” he said. “Are you feeling well?” Aelin rolled her eyes and braced an arm on the table, digging her fork into a piece of toast. “Is there a reason you’re here so early, Fenrys?” She said rather snappishly. The male raised a groomed brow in her direction, but shook his head, and fished something of his pocket, “This came a little bit ago.” He tossed a sealed envelope across the table, and she caught it with a hand. Suddenly, the scent of pine and snow and Rowan filled her, and a smile brightened her face. “Rowan,” she whispered. 

She looked away from the sealed letter and towards Fenrys, raising a brow. “Why not just have a servant deliver this?” Fenrys looked out the window, his hands fidgeting with his fork. “Fenrys,” she growled. He winced a bit and met her eyes again. “Lysandra wanted me to check on you, she said you hadn’t been sleeping, and that you wouldn’t talk to her about it—”  
Aelin bristled and clenched her fork a bit tighter.  
“And she said it might be good to talk to someone else…” Fenrys shifted in his seat, poking at the food on his plate. Aelin knew they were only trying to help, but they couldn’t. It was as simple as that. They had no way of knowing what it had been like inside that coffin, or inside that damned pit Maeve had kept her in. And she didn’t think she could ever tell them. Fenrys knew most of what had happened simply because he’d been there, and Rowan… She’d told him only wat she could. There were some things that could only escape the binds she kept them in during her nightmares. And the things that had happened when she’d faced Erawan on the battle field… “I can’t talk about it Fen. I-,” she paused, considering what she was about to say. “I won’t talk about it.” 

Fenrys nodded sadly and stood. “I have days like that too, but you can’t let it sit inside and grow into even worse monstrosities. We can’t let what happened to us defeat us after we’ve already survived it. You survived, Majesty, don’t forget that. And don’t forget that surviving isn’t the same thing as living.” With that, he left. 

Aelin braced her elbows on the table, looking at her half-eaten breakfast in disgust. She’d told Rowan once that he made her want to live¬— not just survive. And he did. Every day, but it seemed that ever since she’d been freed from that hellhole, she’d been going through the motions. She was Aelin Galathynius and she had survived Maeve, she had survived a fate that the very gods had predestined her for. But she was tired of just surviving. Perhaps she had forgotten those words she’d told her mate all those months ago.

Fenrys was lost in thought as he wandered down the hall towards his rooms, but as the ever-changing scent of Lysandra met his nose, he was drug out of his reverie. “Did you talk to her?” Lysandra practically shouted as he neared her. “I did my best, but,” he sighed. “This is something she has to be willing to do.” Lysandra frowned, but nodded. “Before Rowan left, he told me to keep an eye on her.” She dropped her voice, and glanced around the empty hall. “He said her nightmares had gotten worse, and that she wasn’t even telling him what was going on.” Lysandra scrubbed her face with a small hand. “I’m worried.” She said finally, and Fenrys nodded his agreement. “There’s quite a lot going on, maybe after everything’s settled in Eyllwe and in Doranelle, the stress will ease,” he said after a moment. “Maybe,” Lysandra whispered. 

Aelin had forced herself to finish her meal before asking for the table to be cleared. Now, lying atop the covers in her bed, she smiled as she carefully unfolded the parchment, Rowan’s scent still clinging to the paper. 

_My dearest, Aelin,  
I miss you. It is hard being so far away from you, Fireheart. By the time you get this letter, I’ll be on the ship, but for now, I’m lying in my dreadfully uncomfortable bed in the nicest inn Ilium could offer, wishing you were here. Unfortunately, I think the further we get from each other, the harder it is to get clear messages, so while I’m on the ship, you may have some silence. But I promise when I get to Eyllwe I’ll write more. And, I am unashamed to tell you that I have read a few of your little poems. They’ve giving me a few ideas, actually, especially the one atop page 55. _

Aelin made a mental note to look that one up.

_But, asides from your sinful literature, I’d like you to know how amazing Ilium is. This city is flourishing, and as are all the others we passed through on the way here. Aelin, when I get back, I think we should go around and visit the towns and villages again. Not just for their sake, but for ours as well. I think it would do us both good to see what we’ve done. The people are healing, from the War, and from the past. It’s inspiring. This morning, after we arrived, I went down to the temple to pray, and to look around. It has become a place of reverence again. You’d be honored, my love._

He went on to discuss the many happenings of their week and a half of travels, and of course, the topics he had decided to discuss in Eyllwe, but towards the end…. Aelin reread the last few paragraphs a few times.

_Aelin, perhaps this a cowardly way of doing things, but I wanted to do this in a letter, if only because you cannot out right refuse the written word. I know there are things you aren’t talking about, with me, with Lys, with anyone. And I know you need time, I am prepared to give you the rest of your life if need be, but Fireheart, you can’t internalize these things. You can’t keep it in. It’ll destroy you. I know from personal experience._  
_You told me once that you can’t talk about the things that have happened to you. You told me that there was a rage. But that rage does not turn me away. I am not going to turn away. You’re my mate. My carranam. My queen and wife. And I love you more than anything in this damned world and in the next. And if you can’t ever talk about what happened. Then please just tell me what your feeling, Aelin. Please. You are not alone in this recovery process. You are never alone. No matter if I am thousands of miles away, my heart is with you, Fireheart. Always._  
_Yours Always,  
Rowan._

She didn’t realize she was crying until a tear slipped down her face and onto the paper, smearing Rowan’s messy scrawl. Aelin set the paper aside shakily and rolled onto her back. They were right. Painfully right. She had covered everything up. Had buried it beneath false smiles and sarcastic remarks. Her mental health hadn’t been something she had even considered for the past six months. She had been so focused on her kingdom, and the wedding, and treaties and decrees and all the other bullshit that she had shoved away all the pain and sorrow and utter devastation at what had been done to her. 

But they were wrong about one thing. There was no talking about it. Aelin didn’t know what would happen if she did. It was something so revolting and destructive. That damn pit of memories. Aelin covered her face with a trembling hand, pressing her palm into her eyes until she saw nothing but black. 

Fenrys was about two seconds away from slamming the petulant little guard’s face into the wall. “Let me repeat myself, I am one of the queen’s bloodsworn. Let me enter,” he growled to the now-shaking male. “B-but I am n-not supposed ,” he stammered, glancing between Fenrys and Connall nervously. “We pose the queen no harm; we just have matters to discuss.” Con’s even voice seemed to soothe the man, and he stepped aside. Fenrys refrained from glaring at the man. “If she lights your asses on fire, don’t you blame me.” He grumbled.

Fenrys eased open the door, scanning the entryway as he stepped in. “Aelin,” he called softly. When there was no response, he and Connall walked in further, down the few steps that led to the main bedroom. Aelin lie on the bed, seemingly asleep. Her small weight barely made a dent in the large bed, and Fenrys exchanged a glance with his brother. Together, they approached the bed on near silent feet. Faintly, Fenrys could hear her breath, but she should have heard them enter, at least she should have heard them arguing in the hall. “Your Majesty?” Connall whispered, concerning edging his voice. Fenrys frowned when she did not respond, and reinforced his shield as her reached out a tentative hand to brush her arm. Aelin jerked up, a ball of flame flaring to life in her palm. 

“What the hell!” She shouted, the flame extinguishing much to Fenrys delight. There were dried paths of tears on her cheeks, but as he caught sight of the opened letter to her right, he decided not to ask about them.  
“We came to—”

“Check on me,” Aelin snarled. Connall gave Fenrys a pleading look, but he only shook his head. Their queen was right. Aelin angrily patted down her hair and snatched up her letter from the bed. “I’m not some toddler you must keep tabs on,” she said as she refolded her letter, and then leaned forward to slide it into the drawer of the nightstand. Smoothly, she hopped of the bed and began walking towards her closet. “Get out,” she said flatly.  
Fenrys felt the words as if they were a slap to the face, and from the hurt look in Con’s face, he felt the same. “Aelin, please, if this is about Rowan—,” Connell was interrupted by a viscous, cold laugh, one that made ice shoot into every vein in Fenrys body. “You think that this is about Rowan?” Aelin’s voice filled the room as she whipped her body around to face them. “Do you think that I’m some love-sick child?” The female spat, her hands trembling with rage. 

Fenrys held up his hands in a sign of peace. This wasn’t just the anger of a separated mate. No, this was something much deeper. Something much more sinister.  
Aelin turned back to her closet “I’ll say it again. Get out! And leave me the hell alone!” With that she stomped into her closet and slammed the heavy door shut.  
Aelin didn't leave the closet until she heard them leave. So she had sat there like a pouting child for a few minutes, and as she sat on her bed now, she realized how ridiculous she was being. They just wanted to reach her. They wanted to help. But… Aelin didn’t want their help. Out of everything, she’d always survived and figured everything out. She would this time to. She had to. There was no surviving if she didn't.


	3. Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been through hell to post this.

Aelin didn’t leave her chambers for three days. For three days she did not speak, eat, or read. In fact, she was not entirely sure what she did. She had distinct remembrance of one of the maids coming in and tidying up, a vague memory of Lysandra coming in and exchanging a few words with her. She decided she was lucky that she didn’t have any meetings scheduled until the end of next week. But on the fourth day of her seclusion, Aelin made up her mind to get out of bed and bathe and eat. But before she could even get out of bed, there was a soft knock at the door. “Come in!” She called, rubbing her brow with a finger. 

The maid, Kaya, she thought that was her name, looked downright shocked that Aelin had allowed her in. “Good morning, Majesty.” She squeaked.  
Aelin slumped out of bed as Kaya brought in a little wheeled cart, heavy laden with food. The girl hoisted a tray onto her hip and began to walk towards the glass doors that led out of her main room to the small dining room.

“Just leave it in here, please,” she croaked, her voice cracking despite not speaking to anyone in the past three days. Kaya paused, then nodded, and set the tray on the small coffee table. Aelin glanced around the room, noticing the lack of large dog. That was why Lysandra had been there, she guessed.  
“Would you like me to add more logs to the fire, your Majesty?” Startled, Aelin squinted towards the fire. It was barely glowing. “I- Yes,” she said through a yawn. “Thank you.” The girl bowed her mousy head and scurried towards the hearth. Aelin shrugged on her robe, the cold light illuminating the room. She hated this aspect of winter; the cold. It never seemed to leave her bones, and without her mate beside her, the cold had turned into a numbing ache. Aelin strode over to the window, pushing back the velvet curtain with a hand. The spacious grounds were sparkling in the morning sun. Snow had fallen recently, but for the life of her, Aelin couldn’t remember when. 

“When did it snow?” Aelin wondered aloud, a hand coming out of its own volition to scratch at the frost on the window. “Three days a-ago, miss.”  
A part of Aelin wondered why the girl was so nervous, but another part didn’t care. “Is there anything else I c-could do for you, miss?” Aelin didn’t look back at the girl. “No,” she whispered. But as she heard the girl turn to go up the steps to retrieve the cart, Aelin made a small noise. She was tired of wallowing in self-pity. Inaction would only further her decline.

“Was there something, your Majesty?” Aelin sighed. She’d wait until she’d calmed down a bit before training with Fen and the others. And, she didn’t think she could face them after the way she’d acted the other day. “No, Kaya. Thank you.” Dismissed. Aelin turned after the girl had left and squared her shoulders. Today— today she would survive, as she had been since Rowan had pulled her out of the iron coffin. It was slow— healing. But no matter what, Aelin would heal. She owed that to herself and to her kingdom. 

If there was one thing Fenrys wasn’t expecting when he walked into the training rooms, it was the Queen of Terrasen pummeling a practice dummy with Goldryn. In fact, he almost walked out as he watched her from the open door, to afraid that she’d strike him down. Verbally or physically. Silently, he turned around, preparing to ease the large door shut when he heard Aelin shout from the back of the room. “I know you’re there.” 

He turned back, inclining his head towards his queen. “Majesty,” he murmured. When he looked back at her, Aelin was studying the dummy, her keen eyes examining her blows. “Well, come in.” She said as she turned towards him finally, her breath barely heavy despite her vigorous exercising. Fenrys nodded again and stepped out of the doorway. He watched as Aelin went back to careful parries and swipes with the dummy, her blade glinting each time she swung. The tension in the room was palpable as he walked over the training mats to the wall opposite him, where the rack of sparring sticks sat. Without much thought, he selected a waxwood staff, giving it a few trial twirls. It was suitable enough, so Fenrys began his usual routine.

As he trained, thoughts of the other day whirled in his mind. Aelin still seemed distant, but at least she was out of her rooms. But the tone of Aelin’s still echoed in his bones, the sheer cold rage that burned and maimed all in its’ path. For a horrible second, that voice had reminded him of Maeve. Fenrys knew he couldn’t blame his queen entirely for her actions, but he wasn’t entirely prepared to forgive her for those few actions. 

For a long, long while the only sound in the room was the near-rhythmic thump of Aelin’s blade against the leather dummy, and the swish of Fenrys sticks through the air. Pausing for a moment, he brushed back his hair, glancing once towards the female behind him, who was moving with trained brutality. She met imaginary parries with blocks so final, Fenrys wondered for just a second if Rowan had trained her with a sword. But as her thin white shirt stuck to her back with sweat, Fenrys was reminded of her past as Ardalan’s Assassin. And of the past year. Of whippings and war.

With a sigh, he forced the thought from his head.

He exhaled sharply and raised the sparring stick, spinning it and swiping at invisible enemies’ feet. He’d asked Connall to join him, but his twin had declined, making some flimsy excuse. But Fenrys knew he was too busy panting after Vaughn, who was currently helping Ren Allsbrook train the new guard. A part of Fenrys was happy for his twin, but Vaughn was a different type. He’d fought along the male long enough to know he was a fantastic warrior, and that he’d die sooner than harm any member of their court, but there was a certain part of the male that had always made Fenrys uneasy. There was a kind of unfeeling, unempathetic air about the male. Fenrys knew his brother, and his brother needed someone to care for him, someone who could understand the complexity of his emotions.

But Fenrys also knew it was none of his business, as Connall so often reminded him. Fenrys switched hands, striking low, high, and working in a few punches and—  
“Fenrys!” 

He turned around so fast he nearly struck himself with the staff. Aelin stood her hands braced on the pommel of her sword, chest heaving. She licked her lips once, then bowed her head. 

“I am sorry,” she said so abruptly that even she seemed shocked by it. He didn’t need to ask what she was apologizing for. With a trembling hand, she brushed back her hair, “You are right. I need to face— I need to face the things done to me. The things I’ve done. But, I am unwilling to take complete blame for my outburst.” She sheathed Goldryn, her eyes shining as she approached him. With a jolt, he realized not many would ever see this side of their strong, unrelenting, steadfast queen. The apologetic, vulnerable side. Aelin paused a foot or two before him and met his eyes. “I’m thankful that you two care enough to check on me, but I need to sort some of my own things out.” He caught her meaning, no more snooping. Fenrys nodded, then took the hand Aelin put forth.

“Will you give me time?”   
“Of course, but Aelin, if you ever need to talk about that—”  
“Don’t,” she whispered, and the anger in her blue-gold eyes was enough to make him drop it.  
“Of course, Your Majesty, I will always give you time.” They were shirking the issue.  
He bowed his head. Aelin smiled softly and squeezed his hand. Fenrys felt his mood lift at that hint of a smile. “Now,” she said as she retracted her hand. “Help me train.” Fenrys gave a wicked grin, “Has Whitethorn been slouching in his duties?” Aelin thwacked him on the shoulder, but laughter echoed in the room.  
The laughter was almost enough to make Fenrys forget what had just transpired. She was avoiding the truth. And it was going to bite her in the ass if she didn’t face it.

Aelin grinned as she sipped from her glass, watching Fenrys show Lysandra a maneuver that would disembowel someone while also severing a hip flexor. The shifter had slipped into the room twenty minutes ago when Aelin had been sparring with Fenrys. It was good, Aelin decided, to get out and talk and move. It wasn’t a cure-all, but it helped. And it certainly helped with the loneliness. Lysandra let out a tinkling laugh as Fenrys murmured something under his breath, and Aelin set her glass down, crossing across the mats to her friends. “Lys, how about you and I go—,” Aelin pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. For a second, she felt her breakfast rise in her throat. Lysandra raised a groomed brow. “What’s wrong,” she asked gently, but Aelin shook her off.   
“Oh, I—”  
A wave of nausea swept over her so harshly that she nearly fell to her knees. 

Aelin doubled over as Lys and Fenrys raced to her side. “What’s wrong,” Lysandra asked again, her hands digging into her sides. Aelin felt bile rise in her throat, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. _Don’t vomit, don’t vomit don’t vomit._ Aelin ripped herself from Lysandra’s hands and raced to the trash bin besides the door. Tears pricked her eyes as she vomited her breakfast up, her stomach convulsing. Through her disgust and embarrassment, she heard Lys order Fenrys to check the water, then felt the shifter’s gentle hands on her back. “Nothing,” Fenrys called from the back of the room. Aelin retched again, and Lysandra crouched next to her, brushing back the hair falling out of Aelin’s braid. Thoughts and emotions whirled in Aelin’s head as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Aelin took the glass of water that Fenrys offered her and sipped slowly. “Lysandra, I’d like you to come with me,” she didn’t recognize her own voice. It seemed too cold, too distant.   
Fenrys and Lysandra exchanged glances, and Fenrys opened his mouth to say something, but she held up a shaky hand and walked out. 

Lysandra spared one last glance towards Fenrys—who was giving her a puzzled look—then sprinted out the door.   
When Lysandra skidded to a halt before Aelin, a thousand questions whirled through her head, namely, Why the hell was Aelin shaking as hard as she was?  
The queen’s face was pale as death, and her hands trembled as she raked her hands through her golden hair. Panic was beginning to thunder in Lysandra’s chest. “Aelin,” she hissed as the woman closed her eyes tightly. 

“I know why I was sick,” she muttered, her voice croaky. Lysandra nodded, gesturing for the woman to continue.   
“I’m late, Lys. Two weeks.” Lysandra felt the blood drain from her own face at what she was implying. “Do you think…” Lysandra trailed off unable to finish the sentence. Aelin sighed and squared her shoulders. Without warning, her queen grabbed her hand and dragged her into one of the storage closets across the hall. The room stunk like mildew, but it didn’t seem to bother Aelin as she dragged a bucket down from a shelf and plopped herself down. Lysandra dragged her hands through her own hair. Aelin, she knew, wanted children, but this soon… So soon after the war that still left Lysandra screaming for Aedion in the middle of the night and left their queen looking over her shoulder at any loud noise.   
“Rowan and I don’t use contraceptives,” Aelin murmured, her eyes downcast. Through the dim light Lysandra saw Aelin rub her finger down the scar across her palm. “There’s always been a chance.” Lysandra nodded silently, letting her friend talk. “Will you come with me? To the healer?” Lysandra cleared her throat, “Of course.” What else could she do.


	4. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan has a nightmare that reveals some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST! ANGST! Not gonna lie, I cried writing this chapter. Sorry I was so late, but in good news I'm done with school for a few months, so I can write more!

The world was a silent, frozen hell. Each breath tore from his throat, as if someone was ripping it from his lungs. And his leg— his leg hurt so damn bad. But all the pain was nothing compared to the throbbing in his heart. 

_Aelin._

He looked around the frozen hellscape, and felt bile rise in his throat. Something was wrong.  
_Aelin._

That name rang through his mind like a tolling bell. The name was familiar, but he couldn’t remember who it belonged to. He stood, feeling blood from a wound on his leg dribble down his calf. Perhaps he had died, and this was his punishment. A never-ending hell of coldness and confusion. The ground crunched beneath his stumbling feet as he walked forward. Maybe that name— Aelin— was his. He couldn’t remember his own. 

_Aelin._

In the blue-gray distance, he saw an indistinct lump, a disruption in the monotony in the flat landscape. 

_Aelin._

He walked faster and faster, until he was running— sprinting towards the figure on the ground.

_Aelin._

Panic was fluttering in his chest, but he kept moving. And then he was two feet before the figure. 

“Aelin,” he whispered. 

The name. The name belonged to his mate. His mate who lie before him, unmoving. He crouched down and felt the wound in his leg bark in agony, but ignored it as the metallic scent of Aelin’s blood filled his mouth. He began to search her body, but he could find no wound. And yet she bled. 

“Aelin!” He shouted, his voice foreign and pained. The female didn’t answer. Her eyes were open, though. Those gorgeous eyes were open, but hazy, as if she wasn’t really using them. He placed his hands on her face, unable to believe the thoughts whirring through his mind.  
She couldn’t be dead. It wasn’t possible. There was no way the flame of Aelin Galathynius was extinguished. No way. He leaned down, brushing back her limp hair. “Wake up, Aelin,” he murmured as icy tears slipped down his face. “Fireheart. You can’t—” A sob exploded from him and he found himself wishing he too were dead. “Fireheart, n-no. Pl-please!” He screamed, the words echoing a thousand times around him. But she didn’t respond. 

She was dead. 

He screamed her name again, unable to do anything else. But there was no answer. And so, his hell raged on.

Aedion was awoken by the screaming of the wind. And by the pounding of someone’s fist on his door. “Aedion, wake the hell up!”

Gavriel. 

The panic in his father’s voice was what made him spring out of bed and into a pair of trousers.  
As he exited his room, the ship gave a dangerous lurch to the side, and Aedion nearly crashed into a groggy crewmate. His father stood in the dimly lit hall, his handsome face hard, his breath clouding in front of him. It was then that Aedion realized just how cold it was. “What’s happening?” He called above the screaming winds. His father frowned and gestured for him to follow. 

Together they raced up the steps and to Rowan’s room, and by the time they reached the king’s door, Aedion was shivering. “It’s just a storm, right, do we need him to…” He trailed off as scream echoed from inside Rowan’s room. Immediately, Aedion drew his swords, ready to slaughter the threat to his king, but the hand on his bare shoulder stopped him. 

“It’s not a storm, Aedion,” his father paled as a pained groan slipped out from the room. “I don’t think he’s in any danger, it’s just a—” “Aelin!” Rowan screamed, and Aedion knew exactly what this was. “A nightmare,” he whispered. Gavriel nodded “Get behind me.” His father commanded, and just when he was about to snarl at him for ordering him about, a blast of ice cold wind struck him hard enough that he tumbled against the wall. He shut his mouth. With a sigh, Gavriel eased open Rowan’s door, the wind lashing at their faces. Rowan lie on his bed, a cloud of ice and wind whirling around the male’s body. Aedion felt his father slip a shield around them. Another wave of freezing wind lashed at them, and Gavriel swore. 

The male stumbled towards the bed and grabbed Rowan’s shoulder, shaking him viscously. “Wake the fuck up, Whitethorn!”  
The wind around them seemed to pause, but then another volley of ice struck them, and Gavriel was shoved backwards. The male stood gaping at Rowan and Aedion snarled as the ship gave another lurch. He was going to get them killed. With half a thought, he shoved past his father and grabbed Rowan’s arm. The male was as cold as the wind lashing around them, and it was then that he saw the frozen tears on his king’s face. “Rowan, wake up,” he growled, digging his fingers into the male’s skin. His king gave a groan, and Aedion swore. “WAKE UP!” He bellowed.

The wind stopped. The ice stopped. And Aedion and Gavriel both gave sighs of relief as Rowan jolted upright, panting as though he’d just run a race. Hard, gasping breaths tore through the silence, and Rowan twisted on the bed, swinging his legs over the side. The male’s silver hair was mused, his face pale and his eyes… Aedion knew that look. Had seen it far too often on the faces of men who had survived battles to horrendous to speak of.  
“Rowan,” Gavriel began, but Rowan shook his head. “I’m fine¬— fine. Sorry. I’m fine.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry,” Rowan said, standing up. The male ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. Aedion exchanged a nervous glance with his father.

“Is everyone alright?” Rowan’s face was as cold as his winds when he turned towards them. Gavriel gave a slow nod. Aedion risked a step forward, brushing off the hand his father put forth. “Rowan, is there anything we can—” His king shook his head once, and Aedion knew there would be no arguing on this. “I said I was fine. Go check on the crew.” Gavriel bowed his head, his body tense enough that Aedion knew he was fighting against the urge to resist Rowan’s command, and walked out of the room. Aedion, however, stayed long enough that Rowan snarled, “I thought I gave you an order.” Aedion ignored him. “The Lion can handle looking over a few nervous sailors.” 

Rowan’s face became more animal than human at that, the scared, vulnerable male long gone. “If you haven’t forgot, I am your king, and—” “And I am your friend,” Aedion seethed, crossing the room. “So, lose the pride and tell me why the hell you almost just got us killed!” Rowan’s face revealed nothing as he said. “Fine.”

Rowan was silent as he lit the candles on the desk. Embarrassment. That was the one emotion he was feeling. Anger was another. Anger that he’d nearly injured his friends because of some damn nightmare. Rowan didn’t meet Aedion’s eye as he tugged the desk chair out and plopped down. There was an uncomfortable silence for much too long of time before Aedion finally broke it. 

“What happened?” The male’s voice was barely louder than the creaks and groans emanating from the ship. Rowan didn’t want to answer that. And maybe it made him a hypocrite for telling Aelin she needed to speak up about the things that haunted her, but he didn’t want to answer it. Rowan found himself focusing on the flame flickering in the candle atop the desk.

“You aren’t alone in this. We all suffer from the terrors that damned war wrought upon us. All of us.”

Rowan nodded blankly.  
Aedion sighed, and Rowan knew he was getting pissed. “You can’t just clam up about this when you almost just—”

Rowan finally met Aedion’s eyes, and said without faltering, “I could feel it.”  
Aedion it seemed, had no clue what he was talking about.  
“I felt Aelin die. I felt when the life left her body.”  
The life seemed to drain out of Aedion as he said that. He only nodded at the male. It felt wrong— wrong to speak about those moments on the final battle field.  
Rowan hadn’t told anyone that. Aelin had enough shit to deal with. Namely, being resurrected by the Fire-Bringer and figuring out what the hell to do with the rest of her immortal life. And he hadn’t wanted to add to her guilt. 

Rowan sighed and scrubbed at his face. “I knew what she was going to do, I’d known for months, we all knew I think,” Rowan paused to look at Aedion, who nodded his assent. “And I didn’t fight it, because I knew deep in my soul that no matter what, Aelin would die to save us. Save Terrasen. But that day on the battle field—” Rowan swallowed. Shame—he felt ashamed at what he was about to say. 

“I tried to convince her not to forge the Lock. I thought that maybe— just maybe— inside that wicked mind of hers’, she would have another plan. But she...” He let out a shuddering breath. Rowan would never forget the sorrow and anguish that had passed over Aelin’s face, the emotions that she couldn’t hide. She had kissed him, told him that she loved him. Then said that this was their end. They’d made it to the finish line. Aelin had promised him that she’d see him in the Afterworld.

“She didn’t have a plan, Aedion. Aelin accepted the cards the gods had dealt her, and she marched to that Lock. I followed her, numb as I killed any who stood in her way. And I delivered her like a gods-damn lamb to slaughter. She kissed me when we got to the Lock, then told me to flee. She begged me to shift and get as far away as possible. I couldn’t leave her, but she—”  
Tears of anger and grief and pain gathered in his eyes, but he didn’t wipe them away. 

“She used the fucking _blood oath!_ And I didn’t look back when I walked away, even though every single cell in my body was screaming at me to run back to her. I killed and maimed my way back to the frontlines, roaring in anger and fear, and when I looked back, there was a cloud of darkness and flame.”  
Aedion knew the rest. He knew how the world had shaken when Aelin had forged the Lock. He knew how the Valg had screamed as Erawan was sent back to the hell realms. He knew how Rowan had gathered every last scrap of his magic and had flown as fast as he could towards Aelin…

“When I found her, I could feel that she was dying. Her magic was gone, a burnout but worse. She said “I love you” then she was gone, Aedion. And I felt her soul leave her body. And my world was ripped to shreds. My mate—” His voice broke sharply, but he continued. “My mate died before me, and there was nothing I could do.”

The tears that had been waiting for release slipped down his cheeks. Neither of them said anything for a long, long while.


	5. On Hold

Hey guys!! I'm going to put this story on hold for two to three weeks, just until I get my tumblr caught up with the chapters. Thank you all for reading!!


	6. Affirmation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not posting for such a long time! I have been...... busy.

Silence. An unending silence was roaring in Aelin’s head. It was a strange form of comfort as she and Lysandra awaited Yrene. The shifter was tapping her foot impatiently, and Aelin wanted to snap at her for the interruption. The silence was better. 

The sweet-smelling room was warm despite being in the lower parts of the castle, and the light drifting in through the little window gave it a lovely mood. Fitting, she supposed, for a healer’s room. She was distracting herself. 

Aelin was pregnant. She didn’t need a healer’s word to know it. And for some gods-forsaken reason, she wasn’t scared. In fact, with all the shit she had faced in the past two years, being pregnant seemed quixotic. Aelin leaned forward, placing her head in her hands. A hand slid up her back, and Aelin didn’t need to look up to know it was Lys. The woman’s hand was warm through the cotton of Aelin’s shirt, and as Lysandra sat down beside her on the bench underneath the little window, Aelin calmed a bit. A baby, a little baby. Her and Rowan’s—

“Your Majesty, Lady Lysandra.” Yrene swept into the room on sure feet and gave a deep bow. Aelin sat up, squaring her shoulder’s, and gave the healer a nod of recognition. “Yrene,” she murmured. The healer looked her up and down, and the steady smile that had previously adorned the woman’s pretty face slipped away. Lysandra drew her hand away from Aelin’s back and ran it through her thick hair, sighing sharply. 

“Would you like me to stay?” Lysandra’s voice was calm, and Aelin at last met her eyes. “Yes,” she breathed.

Yrene shut the heavy wood door and stepped forward, her clever gold eyes searching Aelin for answers. “How late?” 

Aelin started at the question. 

How the healer had known— Aelin exhaled sharply. It was so much at once. Pregnancy, Eyllwe, Doranelle— 

“How late are you, Aelin?” Yrene’s voice was steady, so much steadier than Aelin was feeling.   
“Two weeks.” The words were barely a whisper.

Yrene nodded and began to shuffle around in her cabinets, finding a jar of something and spreading it on her hands. “Please lay on the exam table, Your Majesty, I’m going to see if your suspicions are right.”

Aelin exchanged a quick glance with Lys, then stepped forward, hopping onto the exam table with ease. She wanted Rowan to be here. Needed his calm strength. 

_I miss you, Buzzard._

Aelin laid back, the wood of the table oddly warm against her back. Yrene stepped beside her and raised her worn hands above Aelin’s belly, a faint glow emanating from the woman’s golden skin. Panic began fluttering in Aelin’s chest, and as if she heard the terror, Lysandra walked to her other side, sliding a comforting hand to her shoulder. Yrene closed her eyes and the glow grew brighter, a warmth spreading across Aelin’s belly. 

It was a few more anxiety-filled moments before Yrene dropped her hands and fixed her intelligent eyes on Aelin. Pregnant— she knew it— she was— 

“Your Majesty, I believe you are with child.”

Aelin didn’t respond. She couldn’t. There were too many emotions in her mind to compute anything. But— joy, amidst the fear and worry, there was joy. An unending joy.

“Aelin.” Lysandra eased her hand into Aelin’s. “Aelin, are you alright?”

“I’m pregnant,” she croaked. It wasn’t a question, but Yrene nodded anyway. An incredulous laugh bloomed in Aelin’s chest. She clamped a hand over her mouth but continued giggling.

And soon Lysandra was chuckling, her own hand attempting to cover her laughs and snorts.  
Yrene just gave the two a Look. “Your Majesty, I’d like go over a few things before you all start popping the champagne.”

Aelin gathered herself enough to nod for the woman to continue. Lysandra was still giggiling a bit. Aelin figured laughter, despite the circumstances, was better than tears.  
But as the woman talked about the dietary needs she’d have to meet, Aelin couldn’t focus.

She was pregnant. And Rowan was thousands of miles away.

Aelin was silent as they walked towards her chambers, and Lysandra figured the queen was too lost to her own thoughts to really want to talk. 

So, Lysandra let the woman think. It wasn’t as if she could do much else besides that. 

She watched Aelin walk ahead of herself, the woman’s shoulders squared and her chin high. Aelin gave a few of the guards easy smiles, pausing once to ask a maid to have lunch sent to her rooms, enough for two. The queen was a picture of steadfastness and strength.

But she knew Aelin was terrified.  
Hell, Lysandra didn’t know one woman who wouldn’t be terrified at the thought of bearing a child. Lysandra had always been taught to fear pregnancy at the brothel, if a girl became pregnant…  
She didn’t like to think about it.

They rounded the corner and walked down the silent hall that led to Aelin and Rowan’s rooms. This was one of the most beautiful parts of the castle in terms of architecture: Just before the end of the hall a great marble stag stood on a plinth of granite from the Staghorns, guarding the king and queen’s rooms. And the large windows gave view of the castle gardens, which were currently bare due to the winter season.

Her eyes wandered away from the cold landscape outside and back to the Stag. Between its’ mighty antlers, an artfully constructed ball of flame hung, suspended by some ancient chain.  
Often, Lysandra thought she could see Aelin having a silent conversation with the creature, or beseeching the animal with her silent prayers. And as they passed it, Lys could’ve sworn Aelin mouthed something to the great stone beast.

Ten minutes later, Lysandra sat before the fire, waiting for Aelin to finish changing out of her sweat-soaked training clothes. The great room was so obviously decorated by Aelin’s tasteful hand that Lysandra smiled. Queen and interior decorator. 

The little touches of silver or green, the many bookshelves that lined the walls, and the comfortable furniture that Lysandra was sure had been here since before the War. Aelin hadn’t spent a copper on herself since becoming queen. She’d invested much wealth into a new magic school and fortifying the kingdom in a multitude of ways. 

With a sigh, Lysandra slumped in her chair. She was worried for her friend. The horrors she’d faced, the stress of running a kingdom, and the news Aelin had received today…  
Lysandra didn’t doubt her queen for one second, though. The woman had survived unspeakable things; things that would’ve killed anyone else. And she didn’t doubt her king, Rowan had always taken care of Aelin, even if Aelin didn’t know it. He’d been there for Aelin in the days and weeks after they’d rescued her from Maeve. The male had been by Aelin’s side through it all, holding her hand when she began to shake at a loud noise, or whispering calming things to her when she got so caught up in a maelstrom of pain and reality and fear. 

And slowly—so slowly— Aelin had returned to them, still scarred and timid, but she was returning. Lysandra knew there were things that no one saw that Rowan did for Aelin— those were the things that brought back their queen. 

The sound of a door opening brought her back to attention, and she gave Aelin a smile. It was not returned.

Aelin flopped into a chair, her blonde hair pulled back. Her face was both grave and hopeful, both awake and asleep. “I’m pregnant, Lys.”

Lysandra was silent. Aelin scrubbed her face, then nodded, as if to confirm the thought. “I- I am absolutely awful,” Aelin whispered, and Lysandra got the feeling it was more to herself that to anyone. 

“Why, Aelin.”

“Because, I want this…” A broken laugh. “I want this child and I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Lysandra swallowed. She wasn’t exactly sure what to say.

“I’ve done things, Lys. Horrible things. And this child, my baby, doesn’t need to be exposed to those sorts of things. And I don’t want to have explain my scars, or the nightmares, or why I can’t comfort them when they’re afraid of the dark, because _I’m gods-damn afraid of it, too!_ ”

Aelin hung her head, and Lysandra wanted to slap her. For a multitude of reasons.

“Aelin,” she began. “Aelin, you don’t have to keep this baby.”

It was as if a switch had been flipped in Aelin. She leveled a cold glare at Lysandra, her lips curling into a snarl. “I’m not even considering that!”   
End of that discussion.

“Lysandra, this is my chance at an heir. It might be my only one, and—” Aelin let out a dumbfounded laugh. “I already love this baby, I can feel her. I can feel a life.” 

Lysandra frowned. “Alright then, Aelin.” Her voice was unforgiving.

“You’re going to keep this baby? That’s fine— that’s brave and amazing, and I am so gods-damn happy about that.” Aelin’s eyes flickered.  
“But you have to stop this self-depreciating way.” Lysandra went on.   
The words were a torrent, and Lysandra didn’t think she could stop them.

“Stop acting like you’re unfit to have a child— like you are to unclean. Use the things that you think are your faults. Use your scars to show this baby that pain and hardship are a part of life, but you get through it. Use your nightmares to show them that you can have problems, but you can’t let them overcome you! And you use the god damned fear of the dark to sympathize with this kid! Show them they aren’t alone!”

Lysandra felt a blush heat her cheeks, and Aelin looked a bit startled. 

She felt no shame about what she said. And there was no doubt in Lysandra’s mind that Aelin thought she was right.   
There was a long silence. Then Aelin finally met Lysandra’s eyes, and her turquoise and gold eyes were watery. “Thank you,” Aelin said. Lysandra started a bit, and opened her mouth to say something else, but a hard knock on the door interrupted her. 

“Lunch, Your Majesty.” A sweet voice called through the silence.

Aelin brushed off her black trousers then wiped her eyes. “Come in.”

The mousy haired maid wheeled in a cart heavy laden with delicious smelling food. She swept into a bow then began to carry the trays of food to the little table before the fire. Aelin and Lysandra sat in silence until the woman left, and then Aelin was upon the lunch like a vulture. 

A grin fought its way onto Lys’s face as she watched Aelin moan around a mouthful of roll.  
Lysandra slid down from her chair and sat before the table, basking in both the scent of lunch and the heat from the fire. Grabbing a fork, she dug into a plate of venison garnished with onions and carrots. They were silent as they ate, both females lost to their own thoughts, and when they were both finished, Aelin laid down on the thick carpet, a hand running though her blonde hair. 

Lysandra crawled to the other side of the table and flopped down without much grace besides her.   
“Do you want me stay, Aelin?” The words were almost lost to the crackling of the fire. There was a gentle smile on Aelin’s face and Lysandra had the distinct feeling she was speaking or whatever she did with Rowan. 

“Aelin,” she said again.

Aelin gave herself a shake and her eyes focused on Lys.  
“Oh, no, you can go.” 

Lysandra rolled her eyes. Like hell was she leaving Aelin right now.   
“No.”  
Aelin sat up and raised a brow at Lysandra, “Why’d you ask me then?”

“I wanted to make it seem like you had a choice.”

Aelin snorted and grabbed another roll, “I guess I never got to have a slumber party when I was little.”

Lysandra giggled up at Aelin, ignoring the sting of her words. How close they hit home. Ignoring the fact that they’d both been denied a childhood.

“I wasn’t ever able to either."

Aelin beamed. “You get my dog, don’t think I forgot,” she said with a pointed glare. “I’ll get the chocolate and cake.”


End file.
